


The Real Reason You're Here

by helens78



Series: Trip Stumble Fall [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Dark, Dubious Consent, Ex Sex, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-18
Updated: 2010-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After things end badly between Fraser and Ray, Ray still finds excuses to visit the 27th precinct. Maybe it's not as good an idea as he thought; even Fraser's patience has its limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Real Reason You're Here

The Chicago metropolitan area isn't small; it should be easy for Ray to avoid Fraser. Of course, it's not Ray's fault Fraser decided to stay at the 27th precinct when Vecchio came home, and it's sure as hell not Ray's fault that they keep needing to call him in on things, get Vecchio's shit sorted out, talk to witnesses who are only interested in talking to him. (He'd always figured Fraser was the one who people established a good _rapport_ with, as Fraser might say; he was as surprised as anybody when there were people who demanded the presence of Ray Vecchio--the skinny, Polish Ray Vecchio--before they'd come back and confirm their witness statements.)

So the fact that he sees Fraser kind of a lot, kind of more than he ever saw Stella after they broke up, even _with_ the following-her-around thing, is _not Ray's fault_. And he is sure as fuck not _stalking_ Fraser.

But Fraser's always seen things a little different from Ray, always had his own special brand of reality--Reality: The Canadian Mountie Unhinged Edition--and when he and Ray end up in the bathroom at the same time, washing their hands at the same sinks, looking into the same mirror, Fraser says, "If you wanted to keep seeing me that badly--"

The water's ice-cold on Ray's hands, but he can't feel it anymore. He looks up into the mirror, glares at Fraser's reflection, and bites out, "You gonna finish that sentence?"

He fumbles with the water tap and goes to the paper towel dispenser, drying his hands and throwing the paper towels away with as much force as he can muster. Fraser's not finishing the sentence, and Ray is not, _is not_ , going to let Fraser bait him into throwing the first punch, physical or verbal.

"You don't work here anymore," Fraser says, finishing up with the soap, the water, following Ray over to the paper towel dispenser. Ray refuses to back off; he stands there with his arms crossed, watching Fraser dry his hands. "One can only assume you're grasping at every flimsy excuse you can in order to come back." Fraser throws the paper towels away. "One can further assume you have a reason for that."

"Yeah? 'One' can go _fuck himself_ ," Ray says, which--damn it. Fraser always does manage to get to him; he should have walked out when he had the chance.

"Is that it?" Fraser raises an eyebrow, and Ray blinks at him, not following at first.

It gets real obvious real fast once Fraser puts his hands on him; Fraser shoves Ray back against the door and pins him there, and Ray gasps, instantly hard, instantly desperate to have Fraser touching him.

"Please--" It slips out before he can stop himself, and oh, hell, no--he is not going to beg Fraser for anything, not now, not ever again.

But Fraser isn't listening. Fraser doesn't care. He just grabs Ray by the throat, tilts his head back, and kisses him.

Ray grabs at Fraser's waist, making fists in the serge, like he's going to push Fraser away--but he doesn't even manage to try. He clutches at Fraser, drawing him closer, and Fraser just holds him there with that grip on his throat and drops his other hand to Ray's dick.

"This is what you wanted," Fraser pants. "This is what you came here for. Isn't it?"

"No," Ray whispers, but Fraser's working on his belt now, getting it unbuckled one-handed--where the hell did he learn to do that? "No, it's _not_ \--"

"And you used to call _me_ a liar," Fraser says, jerking Ray's fly open. Ray presses himself back against the door, tilting his head back, closing his eyes, but there's nowhere to go--and God knows his dick doesn't want him going anywhere. When Fraser finally gets his hand on it, Ray moans out loud, which only makes Fraser laugh at him. It's not a friendly laugh. " _Liar_ ," Fraser murmurs.

His hand's warm, pressure's perfect--Fraser _knows_ him, knows all the ways Ray likes to be touched, all the things that make him melt or scream or go out of his mind. He's not taking it easy now; he gives Ray those quick, long, rough strokes, the ones that used to nearly bring Ray to tears before he came.

He takes his hand off Ray's throat and brings his fingers up to Ray's lips; Ray sucks them in, two of them, and fair's fair, damn it--if Fraser can play dirty, Ray can suck those fingers like he's sucking Fraser's dick, suck them all the ways Fraser loves to have his dick sucked. Fraser shudders out a breath, hard and low, and then his hand comes off Ray's dick and he drops to the floor, fingers slipping out of Ray's mouth.

"Fraser--goddamnit--"

"Just-- _shut up_ , Ray," Fraser hisses. Ray looks down at him, watches Fraser lick his lips, and then Fraser _does it_ \--puts his mouth on Ray's dick, sucks him down, licking and sucking and swallowing and _oh, God_ , nobody does this like Fraser, nobody _loves_ it like Fraser. The first time Fraser went down on Ray, Ray thought he was gonna explode; Fraser wouldn't let him up until he was through with him.

Not so different from now. Ray's pretty sure if he tried to go somewhere, Fraser would just tackle him to the fucking ground.

He tries to put his hands in Fraser's hair, but Fraser grabs him by the wrists and pins his wrists to the door. Ray squirms in his grip--not right, not right, it shouldn't be like this, it shouldn't be _here_ , Fraser shouldn't be so goddamned _angry_ at him--but then Fraser sucks _hard_ and Ray tilts his head back and he comes, panting and gasping and thrusting forward as much as he can, trying to get Fraser to take the rest of him into his mouth, too. "God," Ray pants, "oh, God, oh, _fuck_ , Fraser..."

Abruptly, Fraser lets go of his wrists and stalks away to the sinks. He spits, rinses Ray's come out of his mouth, and stands back up, ignoring the way Ray's shivering against the bathroom door with his dick hanging out. He even dries his chin off with another paper towel, and when he's finished, he doesn't even look at Ray. He just walks over to him, to the door, pushes Ray aside, and walks out.

Ray rubs his hands over his face and exhales hard. "Okay," he whispers. He puts his dick back in his pants, buttons himself back up, and makes a halfhearted attempt at tucking his shirt back in. "Okay. Okay. You're okay."

By the time he gets back out to the bullpen, walking past Frannie and Vecchio and the Mountie on his way out the door, he looks like it, too. Unless somebody's watching his right hand clenching and unclenching, watching his knuckles knock against his thigh, he looks _just fine_.

And okay, yeah, somebody _is_ watching that, but Ray doesn't give a shit. Fraser got what he wanted, and if he wanted anything else, he could have fucking said so.

 _-end-_


End file.
